


First Impressions

by spookyscaryskeletons (Buttons15)



Series: the 100 but the gays live and the science makes sense i guess [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, excruciating detailed medical proceedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25514362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/spookyscaryskeletons
Summary: "Clarke had two things going through her mind then. The first was that in a crooked way, she’d left the best impression she could have, and so she might not be completely screwed.The second was that she had unknowingly asked the Commander out on a date.“State your requests, Clarke kom Skaikru.” She leaned forward, and though her expression was serious, Clarke could see a malicious twinkle in her eyes. “You have my attention.”--in which clarke is just trying to take a break, but suddenly a grounder which she didn't even know existed is in dire need of medical attention.it is a fortunate thing clarke is good at improvising.(featuring: high accuracy science and intense peace negotiations)
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: the 100 but the gays live and the science makes sense i guess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848448
Comments: 85
Kudos: 320
Collections: The 100 Fix-Its and Rewrites





	First Impressions

The first time Clarke met the Commander, she had been out sketching.

That ends up saving both their lives.

There were very few things she brought with her when she and the other of the hundred were sent to the ground – she had very few personal belongings to start with. The clothes on her body. A few trinkets she managed to sneak in, usually smuggled by the guards in exchange for a portrait. And this – the sketchbook she held, and a ballpoint pen she kept tucked inside the spiral. Both precious, because they were things which could no longer be produced, relics of a bygone age.

Clarke treasured them very much, simple as they were, costly as they surely had been. And so when she walked into the woods to sketch the local flora, she had been feeling particularly inspired. Hungry, yes, tired, even more so, and stressed beyond what she thought humanly possible, but inspired nonetheless.

It was like that, with art – sometimes, she’d grow so overwhelmed she just needed a way to let it all _out,_ put her feelings into paper. Except, of course, those moments were also the ones she had the most trouble drawing anything at all. She settled with a middle ground of sketching what she saw, because it was objective and therefore easier, and it could be useful to catalogue nature around them.

And so Clarke spotted a pretty flower. She found a more-or-less solid fallen log to sit on.

She hoped nothing would show up and eat her.

She hoped she’d find something _to_ eat, too, but that was wishful thinking. Clarke focused on drawing, loose lines at first, then adding more and more detail. The sketches looked dirty because she could not erase the initial shapes she used to guide her, but she dug the pen deeper and made harder lines to compensate.

Her focus was only broken by the occasional sharp pain on her shoulders from sitting in an odd position for too long and the pang of hunger. It was reckless to let herself go so unaware of her surroundings, but the whole point of escapism was _escaping_ , and Clarke figured it would be fine if she let herself get distracted just this once.

She was wrong, of course.

When she heard the branches creak and the voices approach, it was already far too late to move to any sort of position that would give her tactical advantage. Tactical advantage was, of course, the second thing on her mind. The first being _holy shit, there’s people alive on the ground._ Some life-preserving instinct had Clarke lower herself to the ground as quietly as she could, shoving her notebook and pen inside her pocket and listening to words she did not understand while stealing glances at the group.

There were three women, and the one in the middle seemed no older than Clarke herself. She walked with her hand gripping her ribs and despite her best efforts, her struggle was noticeable. The other two alternated between exchanging worried looks among themselves and vehemently trying to talk the younger woman into _something_.

Clarke got enough bits and pieces from the conversation to figure out their names, at least. The two older women were Indra and Anya. She had a bit more of trouble figuring out the name of the wounded woman – Eda or Heda or something of the sort – but Clarke could tell she must have been quite proficient in moving around those parts, because she did it almost effortlessly even as her talking made her lack of breath evident.

“Heda,” Anya insisted.

Clarke watched the woman turn to give her companion a glare, and immediately collapse to the ground. This was alarming enough that the other two exchanged a look of pure panic despite how tough they seemed.

She felt a twinge of dread at the unavoidable realization she was about to help the stranger. The vicious-looking stranger, surrounded by even more terrifying-looking companions. She tried to talk herself out of it, she really did, but the longer she waited for Anya and Indra to act, the more obvious it was that whatever was happening was way beyond their field knowledge.

Not that Clarke was confident she could do a lot better – as far as she knew, she’d be equally powerless, given that she didn’t have a single stethoscope to work with. As far as she knew, this could be a mysterious disease of the ground which she had no idea how to help with. As far as she knew –

The woman coughed, pushing herself up to a sitting position, clearly struggling to breathe.

 _Oh for the love of god,_ Clarke thought, making a decision which had fairly great odds of getting her killed. She realized, when she stood, that the one thing which had allowed her to stay hidden for so long was how focused Anya and Indra were on their fallen comrade. Their heads turned sharply towards her, and she raised her palms in what she hoped was a universal sign of peace.

Or maybe not.

Anya walked to her, yelling on the language she did not understand, and grabbed her by the neck. Clarke didn’t resist, but she did attempt to communicate while she tried to steal glances at her patient-in-potential.

“Let me –“ She was shoved back. “I’m a doctor, god damn it – doctor?” She repeated, then pointed to herself. “Healer?!”

That finally struck a chord, because the three exchanged a look. The one they called Heda managed to somehow bark out an order, and though the others tried to argue, whatever she’d said was apparently final.

Anya grabbed Clarke by the arm and gave her a glare. “One mistake and you’re dead.”

Her English was strange, heavily accented, and Clarke chose to ignore the remark and just get to work already. She entirely tuned off the other two’s presence and focused on her patient, kneeling down.

_Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Disability. Exposure._

“Airway,” Clarke muttered under her breath. “Hello. My name is Clarke. I’d say nice to meet you but those circumstances could be better. Can you talk? It is important that you keep talking to me. It tells me that you’re awake and breathing.”

“Yes.” The woman croaked. “I’m Lexa _kom Trikru_. Thank you for –“ she broke into coughing. Clarke heard and ignored the other two women tense and move behind her.

“It’s okay. Keep talking, but talk slower.” Clarke’s hands went to Lexa’s clothes, in a feeble attempt to undo the clasps of what was essentially armor. It took Clarke three attempts to finally expose her skin, and what she saw made her grimace. “What happened to you?”

“We got intercepted by Pauna. I’m fine.”

Clarke could see from the effort it took her to speak that it was clearly not fine. “I have no idea what that is.” She tentatively touched Lexa’s skin, which was marked bizarre shades of black as if the bruises were old when they clearly weren’t. “…the fuck.”

“Big monkey.” Lexa explained. Clarke stored that information on the back of her mind. “Stupid mistake. I was distracted.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeated to herself. “Okay, okay. Airways not obstructed. Breathing.” She met Lexa’s eyes. “I need you to lie down.” She took off her coat and folded it into a makeshift pillow. “Here. Please keep talking.”

“I think I’m dying,” Lexa wheezed.

That was bad. If there was one thing Clarke had learnt in her job was that people when people thought they were dying, particularly people as tough-looking as that, then odds were good that things were about to go very wrong.

“Nonsense. I got you.”

 _Breathing_.

Clarke placed her hands over Lexa’s ribs and felt they expand asymmetrically, the left side nearly not moving. As her fingers pressed against the bruise, she felt the sponge-like texture of air under skin, and Lexa’s breathes were growing quicker and shallower. Clarke saw the muscles over her ribs retract with the effort, saw her neck tense and blood climb on her jugular.

 _Oh, this is bad._

“I’m dying,” Lexa repeated, then let out something between a cough and a chuckle. “Death by Pauna. This is so stupid.”

Clarke tapped her finger over Lexa’s chest on the right side, then on the left, noticing the difference, how much hollower it was on the left. She knew what she was looking at, and she had no idea what to do about it. “It’s a tension pneumothorax.”

“What does that mean?” Anya demanded, grabbing her shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter. If I don’t do anything, her heart will stop.” Clarke’s mind whirled, thinking about possible solutions. She needed to release the tension, somehow, even if she had to turn it into an open, flapping wound.

“Then _do_ something.”

“I need to puncture it. I can do a finger decompression and that’ll save her life, but I don’t have a needle or a drain to leave there, all I have is a goddamn ballpoint pen – no, wait, that could work.“ She reached for the pocket of her coat, wincing when she had to push Lexa’s neck to reach it. She bit off the tip and separated the barrel from the ink cartridge, then removed the end cap and held the transparent tube. “Okay. Okay, okay. I need a knife.” She turned to Anya. “You look like you are carrying knives.”

“If you think –”

“You want me to help your friend or not?” Clarke snapped and didn’t wait for an answer. She pulled a conspicuous handle from Lexa’s belt and, sure enough, there was a blade attached to it.

Anya moved to stop her, but Lexa stopped her with a gesture. “Shh. I’m dying. Let me die watching a pretty lady.”

_Her consciousness is being affected. She’s confused. Her respiratory rate is at least thirty. The cardiac arrest is imminent._

“Nothing is sterile,” Clarke whimpered. “No anesthesia. A ballpoint pen. Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.” She took a shaky breath. “Second intercostal midclavicular –” But Lexa was wearing a gigantic, cumbersome shoulder armor and Clarke simply did not have the time. “ _Or_ fifth midaxillary.” She counted the ribs, touching them from the tenth up to the fifth, then moved her finger to the right position. “Okay. Lexa, I’m going to cut you, and I need you to stay very still.”

“The pretty lady wants to stab me. It’s okay. I’ve been stabbed by worse.”

“I need you to hold her down.” Clarke commanded, and blissfully, Anya and Indra knelt down to help. The three managed to position Lexa on her side and pull her arms up. Clarke washed her hand as best as she could with water from her canteen and did the same with the blade.

When the knife sliced into skin, Lexa barely flinched. “Jesus Christ,” Clarke mumbled, her hand trembling. The blood that leaked from the wound was pitch black. She didn’t have time to think about it. She cut again, and this time the blade went through the yellow layer of fat under the skin. Clarke sunk it deeper still, wishing she had the god damn proper tools for this, dissecting the tissue with her _non-sterile_ finger. “Here it goes.”

Clarke pushed her finger into the cut, deep, until she touched bone. She pushed it further, sliding her finger over the upper surface of the rib. There was a distinct pop when she moved over, past the bone and into the pleura, and then she pushed down, making space, and heard a hiss as the air escaped the thorax. Lexa took a deep, gasping breath, and Clarke felt the lung expand, until its smooth surface touched her skin. She twisted her finger inside and found no adhesions.

Clarke kept her finger in and grabbed the pen barrel with her free hand, then slid it, touching her skin and using that as a guide. She made sure it was positioned properly, then pulled her finger out. The air leaving through the tube was easy to hear, and the left side of Lexa’s chest moved a lot better.

Only then Clarke let herself sit down, leaning her back against a tree. Her hands were shaking, fingers stained by black blood, and she had a stray thought towards how she hoped whatever the fuck made it that color wasn’t contagious. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.” Clarke hid her face behind her hands. “Don’t move!” She hissed sharply when Lexa tried to sit. “You’ll have to leave the pen there. What you actually need to do is exchange it for a tube and connect the system to a water bucket, and then you leave the tube draining the pneumothorax until it stops bubbling. That’s how you know you can take it off.”

Anya and Indra gave her a blank look, and Clarke sighed. She grabbed her notebook and reached out for the ink cartridge. It was hard to draw with half a pen, but she managed understandable doodles.

 _This woman will die of fucking sepsis_ , she thought, sketching out a water seal system anyway. She made it as detailed as possible, writing out instructions in big letters, then she handed the notebook to Indra. “Here. Show it to your healers. You should carry her on a stretcher to… wherever.” Clarke hesitated, looked at Lexa, then looked at the forest behind her. “I can go with you, I guess – try to make it work. But I need to –“ She fell into silence, staring again at the three. They were heavily armed, no doubt military of some sort. Clarke realized it might just not be the wisest thing to reveal her people’s location. “I need to do something first.”

“You’re coming with us, until _Heda_ feels better –“

“No.” Lexa cleared her throat, then coughed. “Let her go, Indra. This is no way to repay a favor.”

Clarke’s eyes darted from Lexa to Indra and back. “I’ll come back for you. Promise. I just – there’s people I need to talk to first, else they’ll go crazy looking for me. Let me warn them and grab my things. I’ll see if I can find some antibiotics on the ship. There should be some penicillin in the first aid kits. What I’ll probably need is some fucking ceftriaxone, what with how contaminated this was, but penicillin goes a long way.”

“Heda – ” Anya began.

“Let her go.” Lexa interrupted, and Anya sighed.

 _She’s the boss of them_ , Clarke realized, blinking. _The power dynamics are clear_. “Thank you,” Clarke touched her hand, then took one last peek on her highly precarious drain. “What a mess,” she muttered. “I’ll make something decent out of it, I promise. Give me an hour, maybe two. I’ll run, but god knows I’m not proficient in moving through the forest. And, uh. Keep the notebook, just in case.”

Lexa nodded, and Clarke stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Thank you,” she repeated, feeling like she’d been granted a strange mercy. _That doesn’t make sense_ , she thought. _She’s probably just their supervisor or something of the sort._

Clarke looked at her one last time, then broke into a run back to camp.

She was proud to say she actually did make it in little over an hour, running and gasping, carrying a backpack stuffed with bandages and yes, even a flask of crystalline penicillin.

She shouldn’t have bothered – by the time she arrived, the three women were long gone.

* * *

One week had gone past since the incident, and Clarke was hungry. All of the hundred were, really, because Earth Skills or not, they were all painfully unequipped for survival. They managed to catch exactly one boar, in a collective work that took them twenty people. One boar. No one knew how to cook it properly. She had to stitch three people in the process, because the only gun they had was Bellamy’s, and he only had six bullets, and he missed the first three. They were lucky they had a gun on first place, because there were a total of five, maybe six of those on the Ark.

They were running out of rations, too. And it was hard to keep hungry people disciplined, despite Bellamy’s valiant efforts and Clarke’s wily support. They were having, all in all, a terrible time. She’d told no one but Bellamy about her encounter with the grounders, and since then they’d added a rotating guard watching the camp at every moment. But they didn’t see anyone else again – not until an army of five hundred people showed up at their doors, at least.

“They called for you,” Bellamy whispered as the two made their way to the edge of the camp. “By name. Whoever you met, they remembered your name.”

 _Motherfucking god damn shit,_ Clarke thought, speeding up to match his pace. _The god damn girl died of god damn tetanus and now they’re going to have my fucking head for this._

But the god damn girl in question was the one to greet them at the gates, and for that alone Clarke nearly wept in sheer relief. Sure, they had an army of angry heavily armed locals ready to annihilate them, but if the one soldier she’d managed to help put in a good word for her, maybe Clarke could still talk their way out of this. She gestured for Bellamy to stay back and walked past the gates.

“You didn’t die of infection.” She said, approaching. And then, because her medical instincts were apparently bigger than her survival ones, she reached out to Lexa, barely stopping herself in time. “Can I see the cut? Why didn’t you wait for me?! I went back for you –“

“I know.” Lexa lifted her shirt, but offered no explanation about her departure. The wound was healing surprisingly well, although the bruise’s colors were off, and Clarke touched her fingers against the skin to feel for warmth or swelling, but found neither. “ _Natblida_ don’t get infections.”

“Your black blood,” Clarke guessed. “It’s healing well. Could have used some stitches, but all things considered, this looks good. It’ll leave a scar, though.”

Lexa let go of her shirt and adjusted it on her body. “Thank you. Klark?” She paused, then tried again. “Clarke.”

“That’s right.” She nodded, then took a step back. She couldn’t see Indra or Anya this time, but the soldiers that surrounded them seemed to be waiting for a signal. Clarke took a deep breath. “You came back. With… an army.”

“Yes.” Lexa reached inside her armor and pulled something out – her notebook, and then a red pen. “It took me a while to find a replacement. This one is red. Yours was blue. I’m sorry I couldn’t find the same color.” She extended Clarke the objects. “Your diagrams were very helpful.”

Clarke took them and blinked. “I – it’s fine. Thank you for returning it.” She flipped through the pages, running her fingers over the paper. They were perfectly intact. “… what about the army?”

Lexa crossed her arms and shrugged. “Ah. Yes. This is Trikru territory. You and your people are invading. Trikru has demanded action. Hence the army. The army is here to rectify the problem.”

Clarke hated herself a little right then, because through all the week since she’d first met the grounders, she’d asked herself many things – how many were there, how did they survive, what was their culture like, what was the language they spoke. But not once did it cross her mind that they might have been trespassing on someone’s home.

And now there was an army to remind her of that small thing she’d overlooked. “Okay,” Clarke muttered. “Okay, all right. Look. Yes. This looks bad. But I promise you we didn’t mean this as a hostility. We just literally fell from the sky here. But. But if it’s a problem, then we’ll move. No need to um, to use the army. We’re not looking for a fight.”

Lexa tilted her head. “Mmh. This is a large force, though. A group this large can only be understood as a threat.”

“We’re just kids.” Clarke raised her open hands in peace. “I’m one of the oldest here, and I just turned eighteen. Some of us are younger than ten. We’re all hungry and tired and desperate. We’re afraid we won’t make it through winter. We can’t possibly stand up against you. We can’t even hunt, let alone fight.” She rubbed her face with her palm. “Listen, don’t your people have a… I don’t know, a chancellor, a president, a queen?”

“We have a Commander.” Lexa smiled with a twinkle on her eyes. “The Commander rules over the Twelve Clans of the Coalition – which consists of… well, all the inhabitable land from the Dead Zone to the ocean. I suppose you could move beyond the Dead Zone, but you’d have to cross at least twenty days of desert and minefields to an uncertain destination.”

 _Nope,_ Clarke thought. _Not ideal_. “Okay.” She paused to think her next words carefully. “Well, I helped you out, right? So do you think you could, maybe, I don’t know. Put in a good word for me?” She gave Lexa a sheepish look. “Maybe… maybe you can get me an audience with your Commander? We can talk this out. No need for violence.”

“Hm.” Lexa tapped her arm with her finger. “All right. Seems fair enough. Follow me. I’ll take you to the Commander’s tent.”

“The Commander is here?!” Clarke’s voice came two octaves higher than usual. She knew she had a diplomatic issue on her hands, but she hadn’t expected it to be one of this magnitude – one big enough that the political leader of the entire known world would show up in person to solve. “Haaa. Shit.” Lexa raised her eyebrows. Clarke whimpered. “Sorry. There’s an army at my door. An understandably angry one. I’m about to beg for our lives to the most powerful person on Earth. Those people look mean – um, no offense. But I can’t imagine their leader would be any less threatening.” She rubbed her face with her hands. “I’m rambling. Sorry. I’m anxious.”

Lexa tilted her head. “The Commander is not unjust. There’s no need to be nervous, if your intentions are good and true.”

“I have great intentions,” Clarke muttered. “The best intentions. Fantastic intentions. I intend to ask him –”

“Her.”

“Huh.” Clarke blinked. “I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just that Commander is a high military title and my people usually associate that with men.” She shook her head. “But I shouldn’t extend my culture into your own. Regardless, I just want to ask her to _please_ have mercy on our souls.”

“Mercy.” Lexa half-smiled. “Mercy is not something we value among my people. We see it as weakness. If you want to succeed, Clarke, you’ll need to appeal to something other than mercy – you’ll have to demonstrate your worth.”

Clarke resisted the urge to whimper. “I appreciate the tip. Can I have a moment to confer with Bellamy?” She pointed. “That guy over there. It might not seem like it, but he’s worried sick. Let me tell him I’m about to go on our people’s greatest diplomatic endeavor since Unity Day, so he can worry ten times as much.” She raised her hand. “Five minutes. No more than that. Promise. I’ll be right back.”

Lexa smirked, and Clarke caught herself thinking she had a beautiful smile. “Of course.”

She skittered back to Bellamy as fast as she could, running so fast she had to stop and catch her breath. He was waiting for her, and though it wasn’t immediately obvious, Clarke could see through his body language that he was just as panicked as she was. “Bell.”

“What happened? Are they going to attack?”

“Working on that.” Clarke mumbled, still panting. “This land we landed in, it already has owners. Lexa – that’s the one I helped out – she said this is _Trikru_ territory.” Clarke paused. “Trikru. She’s Lexa _kom Trikru_. I suppose we landed on her property. Bell, we’re trespassers. We’re a very large number of invaders. You know what this means.”

“On the Ark,” He fiddled with his uniform. “Breaking and entering was punishable by death. I’m guessing the army at our doorstep means the grounders share that sentiment.”

“That’s not all of it. This is all owned territory, from the ocean to… Lexa called it Dead Zone – it’s a desert. There might be unclaimed land past it, but it’s at least a twenty day walk and there are minefields.”

Bellamy took a glance back at the camp, where people were gathering and whispering, clearly tense. “We need to negotiate. There’s no way we can win this fight – not without guns, and not without the rest of the Ark. And there’s no way we can survive twenty days of desert, either. Clarke, we’re already starving.”

“I know, I know, I –“ She sighed. “Lexa – I think I lucked out and she’s a noble of some sort – she said she can get me an audience with their leader. The Commander.”

He sighed. “It’s our best shot.” His hand went to his gun, which had exactly one bullet left. Clarke knew he did it for comfort. “But Clarke, this army? This is an intimidation strategy.”

“It absolutely fucking worked.” Clarke shifted from one foot to the other. “Color me intimidated.”

Bellamy gave her a blank look, then broke into anxious laughter, and Clarke caught herself joining him. “Dear god. We can’t catch a break, can we?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “What I’m trying to say is be careful. And _don’t blow it_. No pressure.”

Clarke took a shaky breath. “Same to you. I need you to make sure that whatever terms I negotiate will be followed. Every single line of them. It’s not just that we’re outnumbered – we legitimately can’t make it through winter as we are. These people are our best shot.” She touched his wrist. “We’re all a bunch of criminals and outcasts, Bell. This is our chance at a clean slate, a real one. Make sure they see it, because we have to make this count. _You_ have to make it count. This is an opportunity.”

Bellamy tensed his jaw, then nodded. “If this Commander is their leader, and we somehow submit to that authority before the rest of the Ark comes down… this will protect us.”

“Jaha won’t be able to lay a finger on you, your sister or anyone else. We won’t need to hold our breaths and wait for their mercy.” Clarke finished the line of thought. “The authority of the Council is moot because there’s another authority which far overpowers theirs. And whatever terms I agree to with the Commander are _our_ terms. For once, we have the power to decide our own fate, and for once, those decisions will be _respected_. The Ark will have to deal with it. But for this all to work, _we_ have to stick with it. All of us.”

He grimaced. “I just hope we’re dealing with someone reasonable.”

“Lexa said the Commander is a fair woman, but the concept of justice is one heavily dependent on culture.” Clarke shrugged, then hugged herself and turned around. Lexa was waiting. “Trust me to do my part. I trust you’ll do yours. We can make this work.”

“Don’t worry about the others. They’ll fall in line. Don’t mess this up, princess.”

“I won’t.” She nodded her farewell, then made her way back to the edge of the grounder army.

Lexa was staring at her through narrowed eyes. “Lover of yours?”

Clarke blinked. “Who, Bell?” She shook her head. “Not at all. We’re… business partners. He’s got the natural inclination towards leadership, but very little subtlety. I’ve got the tact, but I’m not too fond of taking the lead.” She raised her index finger. “Together we make one functional adult.”

“Hm.” Lexa began walking, and Clarke followed. “What are his motives? Every leader has something they want to achieve, or something they want to protect, or both.”

Clarke hesitated, then decided if they were to have a good relationship with the grounders, she might as well take the first step. “It’s complicated. Bellamy is all about protecting his sister. It was forbidden, where we came from, to have more than one child. Octavia lived hidden for years, until she was found out, and then their mother was executed for it. Octavia would have met the same fate, hadn’t we been sent to the ground.”

Lexa frowned. “That’s strange justice for an even stranger crime.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not justice.” Clarke sped up to match Lexa’s rhythm, which was hard because of how much taller Lexa was. “The Ark was a mess of fucked up privileges and hypocritical morality. Each one of those kids is angry, and each one of them has good reason to be.” She took a deep breath. “They deserve better.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes. “What about you, Clarke? You claim you don’t like leading, but I don’t think that’s true. You just don’t like being the face of leadership. But you’re still behind the decision making, aren’t you? So, what are your motives?”

 _Oh, she’s sharp,_ Clarke thought, and didn’t resist a smile. “I don’t know. I’m looking for…” she trailed off, caught her breath and tried again. “I’m looking for something. The truth is, I grew up surrounded by so much injustice, but injustice is a thing which is not. It is the absence of justice. I don’t know what justice looks like. I don’t know what I want. I just know what I don’t want.”

Lexa slowed down her step, and Clarke was silently grateful that her struggle to keep up had been noticed. “What don’t you want, then?”

“What I don’t want is…” She took a moment to think. “I don’t want my people to be hungry, or sick, or exhausted all the time, because that makes them desperate, and desperation makes them easy to exploit. A desperate person will do unthinkable things.” She thought of Bellamy and sighed. “I don’t want them making impossible decisions or feeling like they have no choice. And I don’t want them to be scared all the time, fearing the whims of the powerful and the cold indifference of the law. I just…” Clarke shook her head. “I don’t know. The truth is I’m scared and I’m lost. I’m scared that our journey to the ground was for nothing, because nothing will change. And I’m lost because I don’t even know what I want instead, I can’t see the destination I’m seeking other than _not how things were._ ”

Lexa stopped walking abruptly, and Clarke nearly bumped into her. “You’re a fascinating one, Clarke _kom_ _Skaikru._ I don’t understand you at all.” She pointed to a tent which was no different from all the others around them. “We’re here.”

Lexa reached out push the tent flap open, but Clarke caught her hand before she could do it. “Wait.” Realizing the rudeness of her gesture, she let go immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I - Please. You gave me a tip before. Is there anything else you can tell me? I only get one first impression.”

“Hm.” Lexa stared at her with an unreadable expression. “The Commander values directness. Appealing to her emotions will irritate her. Go straight to the point – what you want, what you can offer in return. Don’t lie.”

“Okay.” Clarke took mental note. “Any titles I should use? And should I bow or something like that?”

“Eh.” Lexa shrugged. “Most people do. I don’t think she minds one way or the other, but the officials might see it as disrespectful if you don’t. Call her Commander.”

“Can do. Bowing won’t kill me.” Clarke stared at the camp around them, then at Lexa. “Hey, thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to, but you really got me and my people out of a tough spot.”

“You saved my life.”

“Well, yeah, but you don’t owe me for that.” Clarke licked her lips. They were dry from anxiety. “I’m a healer. It’s what I do. Knowledge is power, and having power and not using it to help is just plain wrong. So no need to thank me for doing my job, and know that I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.” She touched Lexa’s hand again, tentatively this time. “If I come out of this alive, I promise to make it up to you.” And then, in a moment of impulsive insanity, she added, “Maybe we can go out for dinner, or… or whatever you do for fun on the ground?”

Lexa blinked, and for the first time since they’d met, she looked completely stunned. “I – yes, of course. I’d love that.”

Clarke smiled, feeling her cheeks warm up with a blush. She tilted her chin up to let Lexa see it, then nodded. “Well, then. Wish me luck?”

Lexa almost succeeded in hiding a smirk. She tapped Clarke on the shoulder. “ _Mafta op.”_

Clarke didn’t know what that meant, but she followed Lexa into the tent, holding her breath –

She saw Indra and Anya inside, next to a couple guards, each one standing at the side of what was clearly a throne. It was decorated with a mixture of bones and branches that made Clarke think it looked quite gothic. She appreciated how committed to their aesthetic the grounders were, at least. If they meant to leave a terrifying first impression, they succeeded, though the more she talked to Lexa, the more her second impression was that they were unexpectedly warm people.

But the throne in question was empty, which was a problem. Clarke aimed for a good first impression anyway. She took a step forward and bowed her head. “Indra.” She met Indra’s gaze, then looked at Anya. “Anya. I appreciate meeting you again, under better circumstances.” She turned to the throne. “I had hoped to have a word with your Commander, but it seems she’s not around.”

Indra and Anya exchanged a look, then stared, together, at Lexa. The fact that they didn’t reply added an extra twinge of anxiety to Clarke’s growing pile of stress. Lexa took a step forward, then another, and as she walked the pieces fell into place and she realized she should have seen this coming. She watched, incredulous, as Lexa made her way to the throne, running her fingers over the arms of the chair.

 _Motherfucker,_ Clarke thought. _Sneaky motherfucker._

Lexa sat down, slouched on the seat and crossed her legs at the ankles. Clarke gave her an indignant glare, then her eyes darted to the others in the room, and she remembered Lexa’s words and bowed. She had two things going through her mind then. The first was that in a crooked way, she’d left the best impression she could have, and so she might not be completely screwed.

The second was that she had unknowingly asked the Commander out on a date.

“State your requests, Clarke _kom Skaikru_.” She leaned forward, and though her expression was serious, Clarke could see a malicious twinkle in her eyes. “You have my attention.”

Clarke took a deep breath. “Commander.” _Directness,_ Clarke thought, and Lexa was staring at her with such intensity, she felt as if she was going to melt on the spot. “I –” she fell into silence. Clarke had no trouble talking, usually. The problem was, now that she knew what Lexa expected, she found herself overthinking. _Don’t lie,_ she thought, then sighed. “I don’t know where to start, actually. I feel like it would be in good faith if I answered any questions you might have before I start asking for things?”

Lexa arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re a very smooth one.” She tapped her fingers against the chair. “Fine. Gesture accepted. I do have questions.” She eyed Clarke from head to toe, slowly, deliberately. “My scouts told me you fell from the sky. How can that be?”

“We did, it’s true. We…” She hesitated. The grounders had not shown themselves to be technologically savvy, but Clarke had quickly learned not to underestimate Lexa. “Do you know what a satellite is?” Lexa shook her head, and Clarke paused to think. “When the world ended, our people took to the skies to survive. We used technology – the kind which probably got lost when the bombs hit.”

“It didn’t. The _Maunon_ kept it around.” Clarke opened her mouth to speak, but Lexa raised her hand, and Clarke fell silent. “You need to give me time to think, _skai_ girl. That’s how I make good decisions. I let information settle in.” Lexa licked her lips and gave her a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “So you lived above us all. Why did you come down?”

“It’s… complicated.”

Lexa looked at her in the eyes for much longer than it was polite. “But you’ve been good at explaining things so far. It’s okay.” She sat up straight. “You can take your time to think before you speak, too. I, quite frankly, appreciate that.”

Clarke couldn’t help it – she smiled. “Okay.” She took a couple steps, turned around, then paced back and stopped in front of Lexa. “You’re free, all of you. We weren’t. That’s the gist of it, really. Truth is, we were trapped inside a box in the sky. Spinning circles around Earth, longing for the day we’d able to land and finally get a taste of the freedom you have.”

“Like the _Maunon._ The men of Mount Weather, who locked themselves up a hole and can never leave. You’re the same, but you took your mountain to the sky instead.” Lexa stared. She stared so much, so shamelessly, with such intensity. “I see.”

“Yes!” Clarke nodded, unsurprised that Lexa would be so quick to assimilate the idea, surprised with the specific parallel she’d drawn. They’d tried contact with the Mountain for years with no response. She had no idea it was still inhabited. “Mount Weather, yes, there’s a bunker there. It’s the same principle as the Ark – you hole up inside it until the radiation decays enough that it’s safe to go outside. We were inside a flying bunker.”

“Hm.”

There was a change in Lexa’s body language, the subtlest tension on her shoulders. Indra and Anya were much clearer about their feelings, and Clarke got a distinct sense of hostility. “You’re enemies,” she guessed, and now she felt stupid for linking her people with the Mountain, and could only hope the damage wasn’t irreversible. “Lexa – Commander, please –”

“Don’t lie.” Lexa cut her short. “How are you able to stay alive on the ground? The _Maunon_ aren’t.”

Clarke hesitated. “I don’t know. Truth is, we didn’t expect the Earth to be inhabitable for the next hundred years, but we were running out of air inside the Ark. They had to do something – to figure out whether it was safe to come down, or… or to get rid of a bunch of people so the air would last us longer. We were sent down here because we were disposable.”

“You’re a healer,” Lexa pointed out. “A skilled one. I don’t know anything about sky people, but I do know highly trained people who tend to essential tasks are never the first choice for sacrifice. So why are you here, Clarke?”

 _Couldn’t you be a little bit dumber?!_ Clarke bit her bottom lip. “We… each one of us was deemed disposable because we’ve broken the law. We were prisoners, all of us, because we were too young to face execution. We were locked up to wait until we were old enough to be tried. And when the time came to get rid of someone, they chose the criminals – the ones who were already going to be killed off anyway. I…” Clarke took a deep breath. “My crime was –”

“No.” Lexa raised her hand and silenced her. “I’ve heard enough.”

Indra frowned. “ _Heda_ , everything she’s said just makes it clear we should bring this to a swift end.”

“That so? I see this as the opposite.” Lexa stood and walked down the steps. “They’re the outcasts of people who resemble my enemies. Victims of laws which I know are unjust, because no people who are fair would choose to send their children into danger, rather than her warriors. They’re young. Skilled.” She stopped in front of Clarke, far too close to be comfortable. She was almost a head taller. “Hungry, scared and vulnerable.”

Lexa gripped Clarke’s chin and tilted Clarke’s head up. Clarke stared into her eyes, heart drumming, held breath. Her skin broke into goosebumps. “Commander –”

“Your honesty will be rewarded.” Lexa let go of her, turned around and walked back to the throne. “You need food, water, shelter. You need land. And you need to be protected from the _Maunon_ , lest they’ll capture you, as they do to us, and they’ll bleed you dry, because they cannot survive without the blood of those outside the mountain.”

 _Everyone in the Ark is O negative. We’re all universal donors,_ Clarke thought, a chill crawling up her spine. “I need to know about the Mountain Men.”

“You will.” Lexa sat down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “But first things first. I know what you need. I know what you can offer me in exchange. Now make me an offer.”

“You let us keep the land and help us stay alive. In return, I’ll do…” she shrugged. “Anything. I’ll do anything. I told you desperate people are willing to do the unthinkable. I’m feeling pretty desperate right now.”

“And I told you I am not unfair,” Lexa replied, then raised her index finger. “One year. That’s what I want from you. I want each and every one of your skilled workers to serve me in Polis for one year. They’ll be housed and fed. They can bring their families. And once the year is past, they can return to your people. In exchange, I’ll leave some of my people here to help you get settled – teach you to hunt, farm, help you build your own houses.”

Clarke decided she found the offer far more generous than she’d been expecting. “I’ll take it, but…” _Do not lie_. “The truth is, the skilled among us are few. There’s me, Raven, Monty and Jasper, basically. Most of our trained professionals are still on the Ark.”

“Then I’ll take the four of you.” Lexa crossed her arms and leaned back against the chair. “You said your people in the sky were running out of air. Are they still? Will they come down, as you did?”

“Yes. They’ll have to, soon enough.”

“Then I want something else – I want an assurance that our terms will be met. By everyone, including those not here yet.” Lexa tapped her foot on the ground. “I don’t care how you do it. I don’t care if you have to kill your leaders and replace them. How you do it is your problem. From now on, I’m treating you and your friend as responsible for the whole of your people, here or in the sky. I do not and _will not_ negotiate with Mountain Men, Clarke. I’m giving _you_ the benefit of the doubt, because you’ve earned it.”

Clarke nodded.

“When your people arrive, they’ll be moved to the lands given to you. The skilled ones will owe me a year – though it doesn’t have to be right away, you can take turns. You can circulate among the Coalition lands for commerce, but you cannot invade or claim land not yours. You’ll follow our laws – I’ll educate your people on them. No thieving and no murdering, for starters.” Lexa paused for a second. “Uh, having more than one child is fine.”

“Bellamy will be thrilled to know.”

“I don’t care about your crimes against your own people. That’s your problem, too.” Lexa stood and started pacing. “Basically do not cause me problems, and do not let your people cause me problems, and pay what you’re due. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Commander.” Clarke nodded. “We will figure it out. My mother is in a position of power, and Wells can put pressure with his father, too.” _And if they don’t fall in line, Bellamy will genuinely have them killed and I don’t think I could stop him._

“Your problem. I just want the results. I want my rules obeyed. I want my things in order.” She looked at Clarke again, and her intensity did funny things to Clarke’s stomach. “We leave for Polis in three days. Have your three colleagues ready by then. When we get there, I’ll assign them to appropriate tasks. If anyone else wants to come, they’re free to.” Lexa turned to her guards. “Linkon!”

The man in question raised his head and took a step forward. “ _Heda_.”

“I can tell you’re excited about this. I want you to stay. Choose a team of likeminded people and help _Skaikru_ settle. I remember the story you told me once, Linkon, about when you were little.” He nodded eagerly. He looked at Lexa with such admiration it was almost awe. It made Clarke feel unexpectedly warm. Lexa’s voice had a pleasant firmness to it when she spoke again, barely above a whisper. “Do better. Be better. I know you won’t let me down.”

 _She’s magnetic_ , Clarke thought, and it was obvious just how much Lexa’s presence dominated the room and held the spotlight. Clarke didn’t think she could look away if she wanted to, which she didn’t. 

“Commander, wait.” Clarke resisted the urge to fidget. “What about me?”

Lexa considered her question. “Your choice. If you ask me to stay, if you think your leadership is essential for making things work, you can give me your year in the future. Come if you believe you’re better off making a good first impression of your people in Polis. They’re both vital tasks.”

“I’ll go,” Clarke replied. She and Bellamy worked wonderfully together, but she knew Wells could very well take her role. Bellamy wouldn’t be happy about it, but being unhappy wouldn’t stop him from getting things done, not when he had his eyes on a goal so great as a better life for him and his sister. “I should be there for Raven, Monty and Jasper. Bellamy can handle the others.”

She was almost certain she saw Lexa smile. “In that case, I’ll have you as my personal healer.” Lexa turned to Anya. “Is that a thing? The Commander’s healer?” Anya shook her head, and Lexa shrugged. “Well, it’s a thing now. I want one.” She turned back to Clarke. “Go back to your people. Inform them of the terms, I’ll call back the army.”

Clarke turned towards the door, then stopped. “May I take my leave?”

“No, there’s one more thing.” Lexa grinned, the most open show of emotion from her so far. There was something terrifyingly malicious about it. “What you offered me while we were outside the tent? I’ll take that, too.”

_What I – oh._

Clarke’s cheeks burned with a blush. “Yeah, of course.”

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

Clarke was out of the tent faster than the Skybox reentering Earth atmosphere.

**Author's Note:**

> "yo buttons what is this??"  
> the beginning of that AU i'm currently writing i guess. that's the story which was handwritten on my notebook
> 
> this story came to be because i wanted to write about draining a pneumothorax with your finger. the lesbians are just there as a background. this is, truly, the pneumothorax's story.
> 
> "wow this is cool. it almost seems like you've actually stuck a finger into someone's lungs."  
> oh boy
> 
> "why is clarke a doctor?? isn't she like, 18?? how come she's a doctor so young?? did she start working with her mom at age 10??"  
> does the ark look like a place with child labor laws 
> 
> "why do they have so few guns??"  
> because a) the author does not like guns and b) the real question you should be asking is why were there so many guns inside A SPACE STATION. A SPACE STATION!!!!!! WHY WOULD YOU BRING AND FIRE A GUN INSIDE A -
> 
> "Oh so the mountain men are using grounder blood to filter radiation off -"  
> NO. STOP. STOP RIGHT THERE. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. 
> 
> the mountain men need constant blood transfusions because they have radiation-induced aplastic anemia. just like, you know, marie curie and such. and then like, they want a bone marrow transplant but the grounders are incompatible, but people from the ark not only are all universal donors, they're also a marrow match. so that's why the mountain men hunt them, because all the transfusions are killing everyone of iron overload. that's it that's the good, scientifically sound explanation. it's that simple
> 
> "hey lexa is actually making really smart leadership decisions?"  
> yeah man imagine that. imagine saying you have a brilliant political leader and then like, actually writing that character making brilliant political decisions. WILD thought. 
> 
> (yes i am still salty about that RIDICULOUS betrayal like what the FUCK was that)
> 
> "buttons i am fascinated by high accuracy field medicine and intense politics. will you write more stories like that?"  
> idk??? is this a thing people are into??? this seems like a very specific niche??? truth is i come from a highly political context and i worked/still work sometimes in conflict zones. i could write lesbians politicking and treating bullet wounds indefinitely. i have a lot of fantastic stories. like man. MAN. saturday nights in a public trauma hospital DUDE. strange tales.
> 
> "DID THE GUY WHOSE LUNGS YOU FINGERED LIVE"  
> yes


End file.
